


Dean And Cas Go To Ikea

by Violetlyvanilla



Series: Consumerist Meet Cutes (Stand Alone, Completed, Mostly Shop AUs) [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, Canon fic, Curtain Fic, Fluff, Like really slow, M/M, Road Trip, Slow Burn, dom brow, domestic fic, tortured prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 15:58:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15732702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violetlyvanilla/pseuds/Violetlyvanilla
Summary: Dean and Cas go on a road trip to Ikea, will they find domestic bliss there? At least there’s a certain chance of meatballs.





	Dean And Cas Go To Ikea

**Author's Note:**

> Hear me plot my long awaited victory for SPNCOLDESTHITS on tumblr: violetlyvanilla

There's a ghost in the bunker. It was a stupid ghost because of all the places to haunt, where the Winchesters sleep was not an after-life sustaining choice. Dean crept up to the kitchen, salt round loaded rifle in one hand, empty beer bottle in the other (because the recycling bin was under the sink and he liked his room tidy). The lights were off and a shadow loomed at the sit-in counter, hunched over the table top, bearing down on something laid out in front of it. Precious artefact? Magical ingredient? Sam's journal? Dean tucked the beer bottle under his armpit and levelled the rifle. 

The lights clicked on and Cas looked up with worrisome eyes. "Dean, if you want to invite nightmares by eating that block of cheese in the fridge, you may. There is no need to bring a gun to a fridge raid." 

Sam was standing next to Dean, his hand on the light switch, he lowered the sword in his hand. Sam looked from Cas' earnest face to Dean's raised eyebrows, whispered a quiet 'excuse me', opened the fridge, got out a bottle of water, then slinked away. Archaic sword and all with a sleepy 'you guys can sort this out'. 

Dean sighed, marched up to the dining table and pulled the chair opposite Cas out, plonked himself into it and set the beer bottle and rifle down with a clang. 

"Can't sleep?" Dean asked, one corner of his mouth persisted in twitching up. 

Cas glared at him then said woodenly. "You know I don't ..." 

"Yada yada yeah we know you don't sleep Cas." Dean played with the empty beer bottle in his hands, pulling on the label absent-mindedly. "Whatchya doing up?" 

"I'm down." 

Dean grinned, this was progress, Cas was processing emotions. Don't know where he learnt that, sure wasn't from Dean. Maybe it was Sam, perceptive, intelligent, wonderful Cas was surely picking up the finer points about humanity from Sam. 

"Okay buddy, let's talk about it." 

"I don't see the point in talking about it. I am literally down. The bunker is underground. So I am not up." This was Cas at his most mercurial, when he got into a mood like this Dean was left wavering between helpless adoration and being pissed off that Cas was probably, most likely, being a little shit. 

Dean closed his eyes and nodded. "Yeah, sure. I get it, but I meant, up as in awake." 

"I'm always awake. I thought we had established that."

Dean nodded firmly again, reaching out to tap Cas on the shoulders. "Yeah, okay, we have."

Cas was warm. So warm that Dean's hand lingered on his shoulder, where his trench coat was so laundered and worn it felt velvety against the pads of Dean's fingers. The sort of texture that should be rubbed between thumb and index finger and savoured. Dean let his hand rest for a few seconds longer before tucking them away in the safety of his elbows. 

"Why are you sitting in the kitchen, no lights on, by yourself, reading a furniture catalogue?" 

Cas looked down at the glossy pages before him, he looked up at Dean after a moment. "I'm an angel, Dean. I can read in the dark." 

As if to emphasise his point, his eyes were appealingly clear blue, his features agelessly beautiful as he peered up at Dean. Like Dean was some sort of idiot who'd missed that last decade or so of interaction between them.

"You're kidding, I didn't notice." 

"Well that was very unperceptive of you, I have revealed my angelic nature to you many times." 

"Being sarcastic, Cas. Why that, why read that, what is this, an Ikea catalogue?" 

Cas nodded, quickly closing the page that he had his hand on. His fingers twisted over each other over the colourful cover, his voice reverent. "Dean, I would like to go to this place." 

Dean stared at Cas and this time it wasn't because of the way the light chiselled out the hollow of his cheeks, or to try and find the words to describe the hue of Cas' eyes in his head. It was a stare of waiting for more information so that all of what Cas way saying would suddenly, finally, magically start to make sense. 

When Cas gave no further clues as to why he wanted to go to Ikea, Dean relented. "I could eat meatballs." 

"It is open at 9 am," Cas said sensibly. "If you would like to drive us there, you should get some sleep." 

Dean nodded and stood up. Cas' head dipped down again and after a few minutes he flipped a page. Dean may have peeked over this shoulder. There was nothing more illicit on the page than storage idea.

"Should I turn the light off again?" 

"Mm-hm." 

Dean flicked the lights off because obstinate angels were not to be tangled with past the witching hour. His eyes ached as they tried to read the shape of sloping back and craning neck, the lonely reader made Dean's heart ache unexpectedly. 

Flick, the light was on again before Dean registered what his hand was doing. 

"You know that comes as an app, the catalogue. Come on, gimme your phone."

Cas pulled it out reluctantly, the metal hot and smooth as a heated stone against Dean's palm. There's a desktop there that was a blur of green and brown. Dean remembers with a sting in his eye that time he taught Cas to take a selfie and the angel had leaned against him, head titled and finger stiff, arm around Dean as a matter of course, blasting his and Dean's face with the flashlight. The flyaway hair on the side of Cas' head was feathery against Dean's temple. The zoom had been on. 

Dean swiped over to the app-store and showed Cas how to download the Ikea app, explaining that while some apps were free the others came with in-app purchases. 

"So they suck you, then they got you by the balls," Dean presented the phone to Cas and patiently watched him press his thumb to the home button, a look of consideration on his face. 

"So the authorisation of my finger print, that is my consent, consideration for the purchase of something that is ostensibly free for the taking but potentially could be extremely costly?" Cas rattles off the sentence as if such complex conjugation was not completely indecent for the hour. 

Cas swallows, which sends distracting thoughts to Dean's brain about why on earth a celestial beam of pure intent salivates. 

"Monetarily, that is," Cas added, as if he was talking about something else completely. 

The last time Cas put his imprint on something, did he get more than he bargained for? Dean was sure he was reading too much into Cas lowered lashes and skittering gaze. It was just how Dean's brain worked when he was exhausted and his bed had grown cold and his Cas is dealing with shit senses were tingling. 

"I don't know how you went that long without making a purchase from the app store. Doesn't that phone prompt you a million times to install it?" Dean grumbled because grumbling was his default way of dealing with tricky conversation and that was the best thing about Cas. Cas was took to learning evasion like a duclking chasing after the goose Dean made of himself.  

Dean averted his eyes and stared down blankly at the grey circle, chasing itself over the Ikea Store icon. How does it do that, hang in there and slowly progress towards the finish, dawdling as the fear sets in that the circle might never complete itself. 

"Come on," Dean kept watching the minute progress as his feet took them down long corridors towards Dean's room. Only Dean's eyes ensured the wi-fi signal didn't drop out. Only his absolute focus on psyching on the bunker's admitted sporadic internet access kept him from having to state to Cas where they were going and why. 

Divine Cas followed him out of the kitchen as the download progressed, quiet and unquestioning all the way to the door of Dean's room. Dean opened the door and didn't remember to close it behind him so Cas followed him inside. Then Cas relaxed in the amber lamplight, shrugging off his coat and placing it on that one hook Dean had hammered in next to his own. Dean climbed back into his bed and Cas remained sitting at the foot of Dean's bed, legs stretched out on the floor, back against the mattress ensemble. It wasn't exactly like how Dean had on occasion dreamt of how Cas might spend the night in his room, but it was better than sitting in the dark in the cold kitchen like a ghost. 

"Go to sleep Dean, I'll watch over you." 

Dean smiled at Cas whose eyes flicked up momentarily, the bright glow of his phone screen flickering in his irises. 

"Or maybe I will watch this virtual reality room tour," Cas amended as his eyes dipped down to the screen, his long lashes fanning out, feathery and black. 

"Yeah, okay." 

"Turn off the light, Dean." 

Dean could hear the sound of relaxed breathing and the suggestion of a steady heartbeat. He wondered if Cas kept up with those human noises for Dean's benefit or if ten years or so of hanging around Dean and Sam had given Cas human habits. Whichever case it was, Dean drifted off to those sounds and the occasionally intermittent swipe of a finger over glass.

* * * 

"Hello Dean." 

Dean opened his eyes to the ceiling, except the view was obstructed by Cas' admittedly attractive jawline and glimpses of nostril. Dean's heart was hammering in his chest - whether from the sudden awakening or the excitement of an already forgotten vaguely sexual dream, he was uncertain. Castiel was staring at the clock which read 6 am. Dean rolled over with a groan but there was no ache in his limbs, no fuzzy lethargy in his muscles. He had slept surprisingly well with Cas presumably breathing down his neck for half the night, fingering his Swedish furniture catalogue. 

Cas was wearing his coat again, his hands slack by his side, his mouth firmly set in what he would be appalled to realise was a perpetually demure pout. Dean buried his face in his hands. This was Cas at the ready, he was good to go for the day. Somehow Dean fumbles on his jeans and peels off his sweaty t-shirt in exchange for a somewhat fresher one, stumbled into the kitchen and found a cup of coffee steaming and made. Sam, the best brother on the face of the planet, was eating an omelette off a piece of multigrain bread with a fork. Dean took a long sip of the coffee while Cas stood in the kitchen doorway in silent expectation. 

"You coming?" 

Sam looked up at Cas first, that much Dean found suspicious and telling.  

"My calculations are that Sam's above average stature would have a negative effect on our mission." 

There's a smirk on Sam's face as he spears into a monstrously large chunk of avocado. "I've got work to do here, like Cas said I'll only get in the way."

"Your friendship is most dear to me, Sam, it is simply your physical bulk which makes your presence undesirable," Cas said sincerely, though one of his eyes was twitching and Dean wondered if Cas was trying to wink. 

“Sorry Sam, you’re too big to come,” Dean translated.

Sam laughed and scrunched up his nose which he then promptly dipped into a thick book. 

The coffee cup sat empty and there was a crackle of electricity in the air when Dean chanced reaching forward for a slice of toast. 

"The store offers an at cost breakfast as an enticement for consumerism," Cas said steadily. "You're that consumer." 

Dean stomach gave a rumble but his mouth withheld its protest. It was only an hour’s drive and the sooner Cas got whatever it is out of his system, maybe he needed a weirdly shaped chair or mass produced rug real bad, the sooner Dean can go back to not wondering how best to please his agitated angel in a time of apparent urgency. 

“Road trip it is,” Dean declared. 

The drive was uneventful as Dean gas pedalled it to their destination. Cas sat shotgun, closing his eyes when the morning sun touched his face, basking. The homeware super centre was a conglomerate of big box stores and Cas looked upon them with steely hope. 

“Not exactly where you see Winchesters hanging out,” Dean thumbed towards the bright blue and yellow signs. “Lead on, Macduff.” 

Castiel nodded and marched on through the semi-deserted parking lot. The doors were just opening, with an employee standing wearily at the foot of the escalators, handing out blue plastic bags. 

“Might I inquire about my membership? I applied for the loyalty card program last night,” Cas said in a far more cordial tone than Dean was familiar with. 

The employee pointed towards a kiosk of computers and Cas was off as if they were about to be trampled by all the invisible people who were interested in buying furniture at unsociably early hours. That left Dean to fend off the enthusiastic thrusting of bags and one look at the world weary face of the attendant made Dean grab a scrunchy carrier. It rustled as he walked towards Cas. 

“It states my membership card will be in the mail, but since I had to provide them with a fictitious address, I’m afraid I will never receive the card.” 

Dean put his hand on Cas’ shoulder because this was it, before they had even entered the store proper, Cas had reached some emotional peak. 

“You could just print the temporary membership slip,” Dean gestured towards the screen. 

Cas shrugged and nodded. Carefully pulling out wallet and stowing the slip into the special see through panel, right over the front of his fake FBI id. 

Cas cheered up visibly when they ascended the stairs, his eyes taking in the large space, carved into themed display rooms. As the large signs and macrame danced past their vision, Dean was led into a spiralling queue for the cafeteria. The metal and tape bollards stood sentinel and Cas led them through glass cabinets crammed full of artfully assembled preserved fish and green princess cakes. There were a few diners ahead of them and Cas asked what Dean wanted then ordered the traditional breakfast with a side of meatballs. It became apparent that he was expected to wheel their meals on a trolley custom made for trays. Dean wondered why they could not just carry it but at Cas’ baleful glance fell into line and dutifully guided the food trolly on with one hand and rustled the giant blue plastic bag under his arm. It was Dean who paid for the meal because wayward angels were still shy when it came to misusing credit cards and Dean liked the smile he got from the worker tallying up their purchases when Dean gave a loud ‘yep’ to the question ‘together?’. 

It was Cas who thrust forward his wallet to have the temporary card slip scanned, there was no discount and Dean could not fathom Cas’ eagerness in doing so. 

They ate their meal in the cafeteria, Cas forking up a single meatball from Dean’s plate and chewing on it thoughtfully. Then a piece of bacon. His eyes appreciative when Dean handed over one of his two hash browns. The cafeteria grew busier, there were retirees catching up over coffee and young families loading up on kids meals. Students charging their laptops and people from the bus station taking a break. Dean wondered how they perceived him and Cas, early Saturday morning, sharing a plate of bacon and scrambled rehydrated eggs. 

“We only require one beverage because refills are free,” Cas gestured at the coffee cup, it sat small and white, squarishly in Dean’s hands. 

“Here,” Dean was passing the mug over and he might have been expecting Cas to take it from his hand but Cas gripped Dean’s wrist rather than the handle and sealed his lips to the rim. 

Dean could see Cas’ eye balls shift beneath their lids as he drank, watched the soft pink of Cas’ lips submerge into the golden foam. 

“Mmm,” Cas made a sound, sitting back into his plastic chair with a grin. “Best coffee I ever had.” 

Dean didn’t think Cas was lying, somehow the acrid liquid that poured from the machine had transformed itself into a sweet elixir it seemed. Dean took another sip and sure enough, though it was definitely machine coffee, it was sending expanding warmth into his chest, pooling around his heart. 

They walk satiated from the table after a coffee and a hot chocolate, shared. The sauce on the meatballs had a buttery savoury flavour that lingered on Dean’s palate and Dean wondered if Cas could still taste the tart lingoberry jam that he had experimentally dipped a finger into. 

The first part of the store featured living rooms which Cas gazed at longingly. Dean sat on a couch while Cas touched his hand to EVERY cushion, caressing the varied textures and poking the fattened sides to test for bounciness. There were entire suites of tiny connected spaces, like miniature dissections of homes, labelled and accompanied by signs and directions like “Create a fantastic family focused living room”, “Get creative with your kitchen bench”, as well as “Storage that grows with your family”. There were darkened nooks shady with a jungle of fake indoor plants, solar bulb string lights dimly illuminating the blackened wooden surfaces, drink trolleys on the standby. Cas tucked himself into the outdoor bench and didn’t move for a while. His eyes roamed the surrounds, handsome as a mannequin in a life sized doll house. Only when Dean sat down beside him did Cas relax, the blue bag crunching loudly as he leaned a little more into Dean’s side. 

“You okay?” 

“Everything inside can be done outside,” Cas read from a slogan written on a chalk painted wall, surrounded by trailing hanging plants. 

And so it went, Dean found himself sitting on a toilet sealed with a see through lid with a sign that states ‘Display Only’ while Cas marvelled at shower curtains. Dean swayed on a wicker rocking chair while Cas investigated a shoe cabinet. Dean sprawled on a couch with fully removable machine washable covers, staring into a blank television while Cas contemplated nested coffee tables. Cas’ mission had descended into a search, one more meandering and inexplicable than Cas’ search for Chuck or Dean’s chasing after his father’s legacy. 

They followed the large black arrows printed to the path but they always led to detours into home offices or kitchen cabinetry. There was an entire wall set up like a cafe, with glossy black metal stools and glass cake stands. The lighting ambient honey as if it was dusk and they two were the last customers lingering at the end of a date, unsure who should say goodbye first, both willing the other to raise the subject of moving onto dinner. 

Cas was checking on his phone. He had carefully ripped out a piece of paper tape and was making neat pencil markings as if a captain charting a course for some undiscovered destination. After a while he sighed and stood up, his brows furrowed. 

“I think I know what I want.” 

Dean was sure Cas was staring right at him when he said that but when he blinked Cas looked away, cleared his throat, moved on to pat a hall rug. 

Dean stopped dead in the bowls of the warehouse. This was the bedding section. The mattresses were sliced into pieces and mounted to walls, gruesomely revealing their innards to anyone interested. There were fewer display rooms here, the theatrics of cosy and stylish dreams giving way to scientific measurements, explanations of how materials have been sourced, guarantees of decades of comfort. This is where Dean expected Cas to stop. After all that’s what they were here for, to buy furniture for a room, Cas’ room. 

Cas had never had a room in the bunker. He used Dean or Sam’s room if either was absent, preferring Dean’s room if both were away. When Dean was around, Cas often used the library or the kitchen or the couches in the great room. Or there were night like the one just past, where Cas forgets to stop following Dean around by the end of the evening, when Dean forgets to close the door after he enters his room. And just remembers to shut it as soon as Cas slips in, hanging his coat on his hook. Those nights were happening more and more and Dean thinks that if added them all up they’d span years of their lives. 

So when Dean saw Cas looking at a furniture catalogue, his thoughts went to Cas wanting a room, needing his own space. There were dozens of rooms in the bunker, full of mid-century furniture and Cas’ habits were Spartan to begin with. So why now and why Ikea? The cheerful cheapness, the thoughtful homeliness, this was the antithesis of their lives. They were inside the very embodiment of a different kind of existence, accessible to everyone else, completely unattainable for Dean and Cas. 

“Curtains.” 

Dean could see Cas headed towards the textiles area. He hurried after him, trying to part the now thickening crowds, ducking the pram pushed by the hurried pregnant lady and dodging a poorly driven trolley full of tinkling fragile things. 

“I want to ...” Cas stopped mid sentence. 

“Yeah buddy, you want ...” Dean said encouraging. 

“I need help with ...” 

Dean looked at Cas’ uncertain face. 

“Which pattern do you like?” 

Cas was holding two sample panels, one lacy with dandelion shapes and the other linen. Both were white and airy, long and silky to the touch. Dean caressed the materials, let the fabric slip against the sensitive sides of his fingers. 

“We don’t have windows, Cas, we live in a bunker under the ground,” Dean said, shivering from the sensation of cool lace and softened cotton. 

“I read that committed partners pick out the drapes together,” Cas said slowly. “I am committed to you Dean, to your cause, whatever it may be.” 

Dean’s eyes cut to Cas and his chest gives out a huff of air. “Is this what it’s about, you wanted to tell me that we’re committed to each other? In Ikea?” 

Cas nods then shakes his head then nods again and says: “It was foolish of me not to account for the fact that we don’t have any windows.” 

“If we did, I’d pick every curtain with you,” Dean said earnestly. “You’re my best friend, Cas.” 

Something Dean said made Cas take out his phone and go down the rabbit hole of the electronic catalogue for a solid ten minutes. During which time Dean grew increasingly concerned that he’d ruined the moment somehow. 

“You guys need some help?” 

The female employee was about Charlie’s age and she had her shining smile too. Her blue and yellow striped t-shirt was embellished with whimsical details, she wore a tool belt that holstered a pair of well sharpened fabric cutters. 

“I wanted to purchase drapes but Dean just reminded me that we do not have any windows.” 

Her eyes went from Cas to Dean and back again. “So? These work just as well as room dividers or bed canopies or wall drapes. Let me show you some of our hanging systems. Dean can come too.”

Then Dean lost Cas to the cave of fabrics and the enchantress wielding the scissors. They talked and occasionally chuckled and turned their heads to peer at Dean. Dean wondered for a moment if this was like those occasional case leads they got, where one witness or another took a liking to Cas and flirted outrageously with him, much to his complete obliviousness. This wasn’t like that, Cas was interacting with her, they were having heated discussions, her passion was the artistry of stitches and making peoples’ lives prettier at an affordable price and Cas was jubilant at her acceptance of him. 

“It’s a big decision and you best make it with your partner, sleep on it together,” she said to Cas. “But wait, before you go, let me give you a sample of your favourite.” 

The little ribbon of fabric she cut out for Cas was finely laced, like a strand of snowflakes. Dean watched Cas finger it gently before stowing it away inside his coat. 

“I like that one too,” Dean said softly. 

When they were two areas away from textiles, Cas sighed. “I don’t want curtains anymore. I like the walls in your room, they have an interesting texture. And whilst I like the idea of a romantic fairy light waterfall bed canopy, tumblr style, I doubt you’re that way inclined. And I definitely don’t want to be divided from you.”

“How do you know I don’t have er romantic fairy canopy on my pinterest board?” Dean muttered darkly. “How do you know what inclinations I might have?” 

“I found it,” Cas said. 

Dean looked at the packet Cas was offering him. It was plain silver and white, a hundred tea light candles, bulk pack. It smelled of bees wax and vanilla. It sunk to the bottom of the empty blue carrier bag with a satisfying sound. The weight of it made the bag more comfortable for Dean to carry. 

They were headed for the exit when Dean called Cas back. 

“I wanna look in there.” 

The Bargain Corner was full of eccentrically discounted items. Linen sets with missing pillow cases, bed frames stripped of all the niceties, candle stick sets with two out of three missing from the box. Lampshades without cables and tabletops without legs, a part of a sectional sofa and parts piled into a ‘handy person’s corner’. A blue velvet armchair stood beneath fluorescent lights, a cut to back exposing a little empty gap. 

“Sit for me,” Dean gestured towards it. “Now lemme try.” 

They took turns in the chair to ensure it was comfortable, then Dean sighed. “I want to take it home with us.” 

Cas opened and closed his mouth. Then he walked away. Then he returned, pushing an oversized trolley. They heave the whole thing on there and go to the check out. Where Dean, with some relief and a little reluctance, handed back the blue bag. 

“Do you have an Ikea family card?” 

“What?” Dean blinked. 

Cas produced the paper slip from his wallet. “We’re family.” 

Dean tried not let Cas see how his hands shook as he picked up the tealights from the conveyer belt. 

In order to head back to the car, they push the big armchair, perched proudly with its discount sticker crown atop the trolley through the Swedish food mart. The Bistro stops their progress altogether as Cas queued up to get a hot dog and an ice cream and all-you-want-to-refill-soda. They eat their spoils standing guard over their trolley.

“You know you don’t need a loyalty card to know we’re family right Cas?” 

Cas stopped eating, his ice cream was melting in his had. 

“And you know you don’t need to get a room of your own because I want you in my room. Our room. It’s been our room for fucking years.” 

The liquified cream was overflowing in Cas’ palm, a riverlet breaking free and dripping down Cas’ wrist. 

“And we should fuck in our fucking room too, there I said it.” 

And because he was still a skittish ball of awkwardness, Dean darted towards Cas’ hand rather than look up into his face. If he had he would have seen Cas dip his head and miss with his kiss. The soft serve ice cream is creamy and extra sweet on Dean’s tongue as he licked it from Cas’ wrist. It was so good but still Cas’ smile and shiver was even better. 

They missed three elevator runs going down, staring into each other’s eyes, till someone nudged them forward with their jutting flatpack. 

Dean, giddy, could barely find his car. 

Cas frowned when he looked at the Impala. “The front seat does not incline?” 

“Nope, but there’s room in the back.” 

Dean opened the back door and crawled in to show Cas. “See, room for one more even.” 

Cas tilted his head. “If both adults were horizontal perhaps.” 

Dean’s not sure if Cas was being a dick until Cas licked his lips and measured the space above Dean with his eyes. Then he was sure Cas was being provocative. And Dean felt thoroughly provoked. 

Disassembling the armchair and stuffing it into the Impala took too long. 

Saying ‘hi’ to Sam and unloading the car took too long. 

Assembling the chair back together took far far too long and by the end of that both Dean and Cas were flushed from arguing and panting from the effort of inserting tab A into slot B but not without having screwed in C and capped off D first. 

Then there was positioning, Dean dragged the chair from one spot to another in his room, they tried out so many different positions Dean was exhausted and in awe of Cas’ angelic stamina. 

Sam’s knock on the door tore them away from the task. He looked at Dean’s sweaty red face and commented “You guys moving furniture in there?” 

Cas arched a brow at Sam and stated “I can last longer than Dean.” 

Dinner was, ironically, meatballs. Sam grinned as he served it up, piled high on top of spaghetti and drowning in tomato and basil sauce. 

“Hey, I trust you guys sorted things out?” Was all Sam said as he did the dishes with Dean. 

Dean nodded, enough said. 

And Sam didn’t mention that it took ten years or that this was a big change or that they better treat each other right. Sam believed in them already. 

Dean didn’t knock on the door when he was all washed up. There were no more secrets and certainly no division. Dean closed the door behind him because he didn’t have to pretend that he wasn’t inviting Cas into his sanctuary. Cas was already safely inside. The tea lights were scattered on the floor, forming a constellation that probably meant something heartbreakingly profound. Cas was sat in his armchair, beside Dean’s bed. 

“The arrangement of stars the first moment I laid a hand on your soul,” Cas said. “Give or take changes I had to make to get around the night stand and not set fire to the sheets.” 

“Give and take,” Dean murmured, climbing into the armchair with Cas. 

“This type of chair is called a winged chair,” Cas said between kisses. 

“This is just where we dump our clothes,” Dean nipped Cas’ bottom lip then the top one too for good measure. “You’re not being let out of the bed from here on in.” 

“The candles have a five hour burning time, would that suffice?” Cas asked with darkening eyes, brow flying up in dominance. 

“Barely,” Dean whispered, pulling Cas down into the sheets. 

“We could go back and get more candles in the morning,” Cas suggested. “Or pick a store further out, make a road trip of it.” 

“Only if we buy the drapes for the waterfall fairy lights canopy bed.” Dean trailed his kisses in the direction that elicited the loudest responses. “It’s very tumblr-ish.” 

Cas consented. 

The End.


End file.
